


Gold Vermillion

by Diamondmask



Series: Promises and Scars [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Humor, BAMF!Merlin, Betrayal, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, canon violence, hurt!Arthur, self worth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamondmask/pseuds/Diamondmask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story so far: Having thrown Merlin away for having magic, Arthur searched for him, only to find him broken and enslaved. Bringing him home and putting back the pieces was difficult but in the process Arthur learned about real leadership and began to grow into his role. </p>
<p>In this section, Merlin goes out with the force sent to destroy the base of the slavers who had captured him while Arthur remains in Camelot recovering from his wound. In forced inactivity Arthur learns more of his uncle and his mother's kin spurring him to make a rash decision which puts him in more danger than he ever faced before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All is changed, changed utterly

Merlin found retracing the scenes of his captivity difficult. He did not speak of it and if Gwaine and Lancelot noticed his silence they did not draw attention to it. 

Each landmark gave him added pain, reopening scars he thought has healed. This was where he was kicked and beaten. That clearing was where Thorkild raped his mouth so hard he spent the night retching. That tree was where they tied him and used knives to get answers to questions. But as he went on he found that the memories did not weaken him, instead they gave him greater resolve. He understood that until now he had been playing with magic, hiding it, showing off with it. Now he would use it as a sword. He knew what it was for. 

It took two weeks of meandering to reach the redoubt in the mountain where Merlin had been held, wounded and sold. The redoubt was built into the mountain side, a series of low stone buildings around a bailey, protected by a high stone wall with a large oak gate. Lancelot called his men together.

“We wait until night fall, then scout around the walls for a weak point and...”  
“Or we could just go now” said Merlin moving away

“Gods, Merlin, what do you want to do, walk up to the gates and kno...” Gwaine broke off because Merlin seemed to be doing just that. He walked to the great gates and raised his hand. The men heard a mutter and then, with a whoosh the gates blew back off their hinges, flying through the air to crash into the building on the opposite side of the bailey. 

Merlin was limping into the bailey before the knights had lifted their jaws off the ground. 

“Gwaine, is that what you meant by odd” asked Gareth in a strained tone of voice.  
“Bit odder than usual but yeah” said Gwaine. “You have a problem with it?”   
“That’s still Merlin isn’t it?”   
“Yep. I think so”  
“And the Prince knows?”  
“Uh Huh”   
“I don’t have a problem” said Gareth and to his surprise he didn’t. 

Lancelot broke in on their talk. “Shouldn’t we be supporting Merlin?”

 

They moved into the bailey. Merlin stood in the centre, a few bodies around him. As they watched a man ran out of one of the buildings and stopped suddenly as he saw Merlin. 

“You’re the boy Thorkild maimed” he gasped. 

Merlin spoke. “You helped me once. I won’t hurt you if you don’t fight me. Where is Thorkild?” He sounded detached but raised his hand as he spoke and gold appeared in his eyes.   
The man looked at him in alarm “You have magic!” he exclaimed.  
“I was born with it” Merlin said with cold determination.   
The man held up his hand and the knights were shocked to see a fireball leave his fingers: a sorcerer. Merlin moved. With a sweep of his hand the sorcerer’s fireball was flung back at him and he fell. 

“I give only one chance” Merlin said, moving towards the far building. 

“Ever feel superfluous?” Gwaine said to Lancelot.  
“Ever think how lucky we are he is loyal to Arthur?” said Lancelot.  
“At least we don’t have to worry about the King burning him now” said Percival.  
Lancelot turned to him. “I don’t think so. Merlin would never use this power in Camelot where he could hurt a friend. He’s vulnerable there because he cares. It’s in Camelot he need us” 

 

“You know, said Gwaine “This is the first storming of a gate I have experienced where I had time to have a chat. Feels strange” He ran over to Merlin.  
“So what now?” he said, dismayed that he could not think of anything better to say.

Merlin was very precise, “Over there, he said, gesturing at a block on the other side of the bailey, “are the stables. When I was held here I got loose and found a horse. I got as far as the main gate but Thorkild was there, with his axe.” He paused, his hand absently running over the scar on his thigh.

“Over that side are the cells. If there are any prisoners they will be there. This is the mess and living quarters. Any remaining bandits will be in here”

“Right” said Gwaine, drawing his sword and suddenly embarrassed that here he was in the midst of battle and had not yet his sword in hand.   
Gwaine was about to kick open the door before him when Merlin gestured and the door flew off its hinges. In the gloom inside Gwaine could make out forms running towards them but before he even lifted his sword, the figures were pushed back, hitting the wall with force that made Gawine wince. A voice came from the darkness.

 

“So the pretty boy has returned”  
“Thorkild”   
“Come for revenge boy?” the figure came closer, a tall man with long hair pulled back, wielding a war axe. 

“This is not revenge, Thorkild” Gwaine was startled at the sound of Merlin’s voice, so cold, so distant. 

“This is retribution” 

Thorkild was flung against the back wall; his axe, falling out of his hand, swung out, decapitating him with a single blow. Before he fell, Merlin had turned and left the room. 

Gwaine swallowed convulsively as he followed. He had seen many worse sights in battle, but this was Merlin, a Merlin he had never seen before, driven with terrible purpose. 

 

Outside, Merlin was speaking to Lancelot.   
“We need to check for prisoners. If there are any they will not be in good condition, they must be helped.”   
“They will still need to be guarded” said Lancelot. Merlin turned to him blankly.  
“I meant captives in the cells” he said “there will be no prisoners among the bandits”. He walked towards the cells. Lancelot’s eyes widened, then he nodded to himself. 

 

“That’s not like Merlin” said Elyan, “Merlin is a good man”  
“He’s been pushed” said Lancelot. “When a good man goes to war, everything changes” 

 

In the cells they all found reasons to be pushed. Thorkild was obviously expecting the slaver’s visit, the cells were full. A man, chained to the wall, his back ribboned by the lash, two girls, cowering in the dark corner of the cell, their clothes torn and bloody, a boy, naked and unconscious on the floor. And in last cell, children. Percival cried when he saw the children and then punched the cell door so hard it dented. 

And here they saw the return of the Merlin they knew. The girls, fearful of the looming knights in the doorway, allowed Merlin to lead them into the sunlight. His smile brought light into the dead expressions of the children, his hands worked salve on to the ruined back and his eyes gave strength to the broken boy when he awoke. 

 

“We can stay here tonight” Lancelot decided “But these people need to be brought home. We will find it hard to leave enough of a force to keep this place until the King can send a garrison”   
“It must be destroyed” said Merlin quietly. “This place is evil. It was built for evil and has never known goodness. It must be returned to the rock to allow it to heal”   
“It could be a useful outpost” queried Lancelot   
“I will bring it down stone by stone.” said Merlin firmly. “Uther can build his own outpost. This hell dies here” 

He did bring it down, stone by stone, the next day and they set out on their return to Camelot, detouring only to bring the captives home. 

 

It was not a comfortable journey. Merlin was quiet and withdrawn and the knights were wary of him. The power he had shown at the redoubt unsettled them. They had eagerly accepted Merlin’s abilities in skirmishes but this had been very different – beyond anything they had imagined. Their unease was shown one evening when Merlin, sitting by the fire, reached out his hand for a log and saw the whole group flinch. After that he sat by himself.

Gareth broke the tension. “We are not really afraid of you” he said one evening as he brought a plate of food to Merlin.   
“No?” said Merlin. “I am”   
“No.” said Gareth firmly, putting his hand on Merlin’s wrist.   
“You are still the Prince’s man” 

 

oOo

 

They were two days from the Camelot when Merlin suddenly froze.   
“Arthur” he said “Arthur’s in danger” He turned to Lancelot, agony and terror on his face.  
“Arthur’s in danger NOW” he said.   
“It will be two days before we reach Camelot, less with hard riding but our horses are spent”   
“He’s not in Camelot” Merlin said distractedly. “He’s... I have to... I can’t...I can’t do it I have to...” and he tipped off his horse unconscious. 

 

As he hit the ground a small blue orb appeared and danced before Lancelot’s eyes. When he failed to move it passed on to Gwaine.   
“I know this sounds corny” he said “But I think it wants us to follow it” The light danced frantically then moved off, heading west through the trees.   
“Then we follow” said Lancelot. “Gareth, you are the lightest, take Merlin with you. We ride” 

 

Gareth rode with Merlin before him and as the further they went the more he worried about him. Merlin’s breath was uneven and Gareth had never seen a living person so grey. He called to Lancelot, riding ahead.  
“I think he’s dying!” he said “he looks awful. We have to stop”  
“He said Arthur was in danger. Do you think he would thank us if a delay caused Arthur’s death?”   
“Do you think the Prince would thank us if we let Merlin die?” said Gareth in desperation.   
Lancelot reined in and looked at Gareth. “Have you any idea what to do for him? I don’t. All I know is that he wants us to go that way” he gestured at the orb hovering in front of the riders. “I trust him. We ride.” And he spurred his horse onwards. 

Merlin had started to moan quietly and Gareth could just about distinguish words

“Arthur” Merlin said “Arthur you have to wake up. Please wake. Wake up Arthur, please, you have to wake up wake up wake” his voice faded. They rode on. Merlin murmured again but Gareth could only hear parts of it, “Fire” “burn” “hurt”. He wondered was this a nightmare or the Prince’s reality. Merlin’s skin was clammy and he looked like death but they rode on. 

Merlin spoke once more, his voice a little stronger but still a little indistinct. “.... rubbish ....” Gareth heard him say. And then, “... pole” followed by “They are coming”. Gareth did not know whether to be comforted by the slightly stronger voice or worried by the ominous sound of the last phrase. 

And then the orb disappeared. 

 

oOo

 

Away to the west Leon was leading his force back to Camelot. They had taken some losses but the raiding party had not expected such resistance and had been completely wiped out. Leon was pleased with the campaign, proud of his own role in it and glad that Arthur had returned to his strategic and tactical brilliance after a year of distractions. He was musing on this when a blue orb of light suddenly appeared in front of him, swooping and soaring in the air and then darting to the east before returning to a position six inches from his nose. ‘Merlin’ thought Leon, ‘this has got to be Merlin’. 

His men had seen the light and he heard muttering of “Sorcery” growing. He called a halt, and made a show of consulting his knights. Then he said “This light is obviously a sign of sorcery. I will not risk the whole force to investigate. I will take...”he looked around at the available knights “Sir Bors and we will follow it and scout out the danger. Sir Lionel? You will take command of the rest of the force and stay well behind” 

Leon was taking no chances. If it was Merlin being foolish, he wanted no witnesses. He and Bors rode out and the light bobbed in front of them. 

They rode for most of the night, the orb leading them into a deep valley. Leon could hear the distant sounds of a river as the orb floated into a small glade. Through the trees Leon could see the figure of a man, kneeling, his hands held awkwardly in front of him. The man was talking to himself and an orb of light, just like the one they had been following was hovering at his shoulder. Leon drew his sword and came closer.

“It’s a field dressing, and I am good at these, it’s just hard to dress your own hands, Idiot!” he heard. The orb at his shoulder moved closer as the figure winced and Leon almost imagined it nuzzled the man’s neck. Suddenly the figure turned and rose and the orb disappeared. Despite the sudden darkness Leon knew him.   
It was Arthur.


	2. The Near in Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur discovers that kin does not mean kind but that love is not stopped by distance

Arthur had spent the first week of the campaign frustrated with his own weakness. He still felt dizzy when he stood and Gaius still made doubtful ‘Hmm’ noises when he checked the tusk wound. But by the second week he had recovered enough to merit a satisfied harrumph from Gaius and could stand up with absolute safety.  
He wondered out loud if he could ride out to catch up with the forces he had sent out but even he knew that was impossible.

But he was bored and fed up.

 

Agravaine distracted him. He had been spending a great deal of time in the library of Camelot and called on Arthur to help him research. This was not a task Arthur enjoyed but boredom won. 

Agravaine told him stories of Igraine: how she loved strawberries, and hated embroidery, how she would sneak out to ride in the rain and how her favourite place was on the cliffs above Tintagel, watching the waves crash on the rocky shore. For the first time Arthur felt he had an insight into the mother he loved but never knew and he was grateful to his uncle for making her real for him.

Maybe too real. 

 

“How did they meet? My parents?” he asked  
Agravaine’s face clouded.  
“Uther is a demanding man. When he wants something he takes” he paused then went on “Marriage by rape is not uncommon, and I believe he treated her well afterwards, but it is not something you want for your sister” 

The last strand of loyalty binding Arthur to his father broke with Agravaine’s words. For the first time he really felt himself to be his mother’s son and he burned with anger for her. That night he missed Merlin more than ever, missed his comfort and wisdom and ability to still the rage that almost mastered him. 

 

To avoid doing anything rash, Arthur buried himself in the library with his uncle. Agravaine constantly spoke of the story of the sword of Weland. 

“According to legend” he said, “Weland gave the sword to our ancestor, who used it to establish Tintagel. Later, though, one of his descendants turned against Weland who cursed the sword. To avoid bringing the curse to Tintagel, the sword was hidden. I wish to find it”

“A cursed sword? Really? Why?” said Arthur, eyebrows lifting in incredulity. 

“The curse can be lifted, and the sword is our inheritance. You and I Arthur, we are the last of the bloodline. It is for us. We can make it work for us. Build something worthwhile” 

Arthur liked the idea of having a lineage that was not Pendragon and felt perhaps this was the destiny that Merlin spoke of in quiet moments together. Maybe this was the answer to his helplessness in the face of his father’s relentless refusal to bend. 

“Where is the sword hidden.” he asked. 

“Have you ever heard of the Liath Fail?” Agravaine said. When Arthur shook his head he explained. 

“It is the Stone of Destiny, in Tara of the High Kings in Banba. It is said it shrieks when the rightful king touches it. The source I found said the sword was beneath the stone of destiny but it was not in Tara. All the sources indicate Camelot but, there is no such stone”

“There’s the Longest Stone” said Arthur. “It doesn’t shriek. As far as I know it doesn’t do anything but the peasants say it has old magic. They have a rhyme for it : -‘The deepest pool, the longest stone, the wounded heart, to claim a throne’. It is meaningless but even my..even the King does not go there”

He was surprised by the effect his words had on his uncle. Agravaine put down the book he was hold with exaggerated care. 

“I have never seen that rhyme recorded” he said in a voice that sounded strained. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be” Arthur said reasonably “It is only peasant doggerel” 

“It could be more than that” Agravaine still had the strained note in his voice. “This could confirm everything...” his voice hitched slightly. “Do you know this stone?” 

“In a valley in the foothills of the mountains. A waterfall plunges down a cliff making the pool and in the woods around the stone stands. There is good hunting there, I have often been. I do not fear the stone” 

His uncle turned to him, an eager expression in his eyes “Let’s go Arthur” said Agravaine , “A quest. You and I, the last of our kin. In the name of Tintagel” 

It took Arthur less than a second to say yes. 

 

oOo

 

They set off the next morning, just as the sun rose. It was the best part of a day’s ride to the valley and they pushed hard to get there before night fall. The journey was easier than Arthur had thought. He felt well for the first time in weeks and Agravaine was good company. Despite the lingering anxiety for Merlin and the others Arthur was exhilarated. He wanted above all to have something to show when the others returned. Something to say that the Prince of Camelot could achieve even if the King of Camelot was closed to his ideas, something that was Arthur’s. 

And the kinship tie was stronger than he had ever thought it could be. Arthur had been proud of his descent from Pendragon Kings but his time at Meclid’s whipping post had stripped him of that pride. All he had left was shame: shame at his own actions and inactions, shame at his father’s cruelty, shame at his own helplessness. Agravaine offered him a lineage of which he could be proud, a quest he could fulfil with honour. For the first time since he had thrown Merlin away, he did not feel the tendrils of failure around his heart. 

oOo

The stone was in a small glade of pine and scrub oak. It stood about four metres high, angular, no thicker than a young pine tree, incongruous and unnatural in the wilderness. Agravaine breathed deeply when he saw it, running his hand over the smooth flat surface. 

“This is it” he said softly “finally, after twenty years of searching” 

Arthur made camp, building a small shelter from the drizzling rain in a coppice of closely grown trees. After gathering wood for the fire and acutely missing Merlin’s skills in the process, his uncle called him to eat. For one who was very careful about his position, Agravaine was a surprisingly good cook and Arthur ate well. He felt comfortable with his uncle, an easy familiarity without the bonds of fealty he felt with even the closest of his knights. Agravaine was family. He could relax. They chatted about the meal and the place and finally Arthur asked Agravaine what they would do next. 

“The sword is at the foot of the stone. Tomorrow I will find it” his uncle said “and then I will lift the curse”  
“How do you do that?” 

Agravaine smiled. “It took some time to discover how the curse could be lifted. I had to search arcane scrolls and consult; well you don’t want to know what I had to consult. But I found it. Simple really. Fola na fine. Fuil Croi.” Agravaine pronounced the unfamiliar words carefully, his eyes intent on Arthur’s face. 

“I had suspected as much” he continued, “but to find it confirmed was a blow I must confess. ‘The wounded heart to claim a throne’ That is what your doggerel said. Wisdom hidden in the words of peasants. I should learn from it I suppose” Agravaine rose and moved closer to the fire, his back to Arthur.

“This will be harder than I thought.” He said. “ I like you Arthur, despite your father, But have no doubt. I will do this. I have waited too long, searched too long. You will understand I think, you once searched for something without hesitating to pay the price. This is the price”

While he was speaking Arthur began to feel that may be he was wrong about his recovery. His head felt heavy and Agravaine’s words sounded too loud and yet blurred. He tried to clear his head with a shake but it just made him very dizzy. Agravaine turned and came close.

“Are you feeling dizzy Arthur? a little sick, maybe?” he knelt in front of the prince. Arthur could not keep his face in focus. 

“Fola na Fine” Agravaine said. “Blood of the kin. Fuil Croi. Heart’s blood. The curse can only be lifted by bathing the sword with the heart’s blood of the kin of the betrayer. Your blood. I am truly sorry but this is how it must be”

Arthur felt the world go black. 

 

oOo

“Arthur? Arthur you have to wake up. Please wake.” The sound was like an irritating fly buzzing in his ear. Merlin. No one else would dare to wake him. Arthur moved slightly then stopped. His head hurt. And for some reason he could not move his arms. The insistent voice in his ear went on.  
“Wake up Arthur, please, you have to wake up wake up wake”  
“mwake” he murmured. 

 

And suddenly he was. His sight blurred for a second but he blinked repeatedly until his vision cleared. He was lying on his side on the ground. Agravaine was about three metres away, at the foot of the Long Stone, digging, his back to Arthur. There was no sign of Merlin. Arthur tried to move his hands but found they were bound tightly behind him with what felt like ropes. He looked around for something sharp to cut them – his sword, or the edge of his armour but there was nothing. The ground was cold but smooth, the only jagged rock was the Long Stone casting a moon shadow over him. 

Agravaine exclaimed suddenly, and dug faster, scraping away soil to expose the dirty and rusted hilt of a sword. 

 

“The only way I can get you free is with fire” Merlin’s voice almost sobbed in Arthur’s ear though he could see no one. “But I can’t be precise. It will burn. It will burn you too and you’ll be hurt and you’ll still have to fight” the voice sounded exactly like Merlin in distress. Arthur took a second to try to process what he was saying. Magic. Merlin could use magic on the ropes.

“Do it” he hissed, and felt heat around his wrists and hands, scorching and burning. He bit his lip to avoid crying out as he pulled the ropes taut, putting pressure on the smouldering strands. With one final pull, the ropes parted and he was free. 

 

Agravaine pulled at the hilt and slowly the sword emerged from the earth, grimy and rusted. He looked at the shabby thing with awe lifting it to the moonlight. Then he turned. 

Arthur barrelled towards him covering the distance in three strides. Agravaine raised the sword and rushed to meet him and Arthur, grabbing at his uncle’s wrists, used Agravaine’s momentum to push him forward and down, wrenching the sword from his grasp. Agravaine leapt up, drawing his own sword and the two clashed. 

Agravaine was good, better than any of Arthur’s sparring partners and Arthur quickly assessed that Agravaine was trying to disable him rather than go for a killing blow, striking at his bare arms and unprotected calves not his head or torso.

 

It was a few seconds before Arthur realised that Agravaine had the wrong sword. Killing Arthur with his own sword would be meaningless. He needed his nephew helpless but not dead. This realisation did not help Arthur. His head was still dizzy and his vision blurred occasionally. Although he was ignoring the pain in his hands, he could not ignore the lack of flexibility in his fingers, weakening his grip. He managed to block Agravaine’s attack on his hamstring, but as he forced his uncle’s sword up, his own grip was loosened and his sword flew out of his hand. 

In a flash Agravaine broke off his attack and dived towards the fallen weapon. Before he could reach it a blue orb of light appeared in front of his eyes, distracting him for the second it took Arthur to reach the sword and thrust at his uncle, forcing the point of the sword through his chest, impaling him. Blood dripped down the side of the stone and over the rust of the sword. 

Arthur dropped to his knees, his hands held awkwardly in front of him, sick and dizzy. The light hovered to him, flowing over his burnt hands and soothing his head. Arthur could feel strength returning to him with the light. 

 

Priorities. First his hands. He went to the remains of the fire where he found water which had been out to warm in the ashes for shaving. Arthur noted his uncle’s attention to detail even when contemplating murder. The blue light hovered protectively close as Arthur washed his wounds and then attempted to cover them. 

“You’re rubbish at bandaging” Merlin’s voice rang in his ear, managing to sound both worried and happy at the same time. Arthur responded:  
“It’s field dressing, and I am good at these, it’s just hard to dress your own hands, Idiot!”  
“Clotpole” he heard in response. 

It felt good to be bantering with Merlin, even if he seemed to be present only in a glowing ball of light which hummed and nuzzled into his neck as he tied up his wounds. 

The humming changed pitch, becoming happier, and he heard Merlin’s voice say “They are coming” in a glad tone. Arthur heard a slight sound behind him, and he rose to meet his visitors, knowing they were not a threat. At that moment the orb disappeared and he saw Leon striding across the glade. 

 

oOo

When the orb disappeared Lancelot pulled up his horse. He was debating which way to go when Gareth called to him.  
“He’s waking up!” and then, “Actually he’s throwing up. Em? Could someone get him off my horse. Quickly?” 

Merlin was retching and choking, draped over Gareth’s saddle. With some difficulty they got him down. He sat still, trying not to move his head, trying to stop the world spinning. He could not decide which was worse, opening his eyes and seeing the trees and sky twirl around him, or closing them and have his stomach churn.

“Ughh” he groaned.  
“Merlin?” Lancelot said insistently. “What do we do? Do we need to go on?” 

“He’s safe” Merlin said through a clenched jaw, trying not to retch. “He’s safe for now. But I need to see him” ‘Want,’ his mind said, ‘you just want to see him’ ‘Need’ his heart responded ‘I need him’ 

“Can you travel?” Lancelot asked  
“Yes” said Merlin, though he knew that in truth he could not even move his head.  
Lancelot looked at him and ignored his words. “We will wait” he said . “Rest the horses”

 

Gwaine came over to the huddled figure. “You look like you have the worst hangover ever”  
“If this is what a hangover feels like, why do you ever drink?” Merlin asked, trying to lighten the tone but feeling utterly miserable.

“Right,” said Gwaine, “If I give you this, you have to tell Gaius that I did so he will make more for me, ‘cos he said he wouldn’t after the incident in the tavern with the tambourine and the feather” Gwaine pulled a small phial from his pack “Gaius’ hangover cure. I don’t know if it will work on magic hangovers, but it is bloody brilliant on ordinary ones” 

Merlin took the phial doubtfully, but the need to get to Arthur drove him and he took it.  
“Gods! That tastes awful” he groaned, trying to keep it down.  
“Yeah” said Gwaine despondently “I think he does it deliberately” 

It took a while before Merlin could feel effects, but gradually the nausea and dizziness abated and the pain reduced. He felt sick and sore but it was a functional sick and sore and he told Lancelot that he was fit to move on.

 

“Good” said the knight, “which way”  
“Eh?, What?”  
“We were following that light, which I assume you sent. So which way now?”  
Merlin bit his lip. “Um, I think the compass thing only works when I’m unconscious”  
“We can arrange that” said Gwaine.  
“Have you no idea where the Prince is?” Lancelot asked anxiously.  
“Oh I know where he is” said Merlin. I just don’t know how to get there from here. Not really sure where here is to be frank. But I was unconscious and, um, busy so it’s not my fault”  
“Where, Merlin”  
“At the Longest Stone” 

 

“I know it” interjected Elyan, “pity we didn’t know earlier, we could have cut over the brow of the hill and down the back way. We still can but the last bit will be down the back of the waterfall, the way is very steep, we will have to walk and lead the horses. Otherwise we go around the hills and into the valley from the west. It would take another day, day and half”

Lancelot assessed Merlin and made a decision. “We go the longer way” he said.

“NO” said Merlin, his tone the one they had heard at the Redoubt. “We will take the steep path” then in a softer tone direct to Lancelot “I can make it, please?”  
They mounted and rode into the hills.

 

When they reached the steep descent into the valley Merlin realised just what he had agreed to. The gradient was severe and the drag on his weak leg painful. Despite his efforts he was falling behind and cursed himself that once again he was proving to be a cripple. 

Gareth noticed Merlin’s mood changing.  
“Couldn’t you use magic?” he asked. “I mean you blasted those doors and slammed people couldn’t you, I don’t know, float down or something?”

“I wouldn’t have the control. I could end up splat on the valley floor” but then Merlin’s face lit up and a mischievous grin spread across it.

“Are you particularly fond of your shield?” he asked innocently and when Gareth looked at him he went on “I mean I am good at getting the bumps out of armour and stuff but if you were very fond of it I wouldn’t ask...”

“Ask what?” said a bewildered Gareth.

“When you were a kid, when it snowed, did you ever slide down a hill on a griddle or a pan?” Merlin looked at Gareth’s puzzled face. “Just peasants then” he said half laughing.

 

Gareth was incredulous “You’re going to slide down the hill on my shield?”  
“Uh huh”  
“There’s no snow”  
“Not a problem, I can slide on magic. I just have to figure out the stopping bit. Always had problems with that.”  
“?”  
“Trust me” Merlin laughed. “This will be fun. You head on and tell the others I am resting and will take my time. I won’t start until the path is clear”

 

Gareth went on muttering. If this failed, Arthur would have his head but he was not going to argue with someone who could blast a man with his hand. And besides, the boy in him thought it was a wonderful idea. 

A little later, the men in the valley could have sworn they heard a sound like “WHEEEEE!” coming from the hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an old house on an older site, beside a river and in the grounds, hidden by trees is the longest stone by the deepest pool, just as I described it here. I do not think it would mind being moved to a land of myth or a time of magic. Maybe it is already there.  
> The Liath Fail is at Tara of the Kings and will sing for the rightful king – according to legend.


	3. The Sun in Splendor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin heal each other and a myth becomes a legend

It took all of Arthur's strength to walk steadily towards Leon. In the last year every certainty in his life had been shredded and the last hours had torn apart the facades he had built in their place. He felt hollowed out, as if nothing was real. More than ever he felt a deep need for Merlin, to feel his heartbeat under his palm, his breath on his shoulder, hell, even his presence in a glowing ball of light, anything to make this reality a nightmare from which he could wake.

And that it should be Leon to whom he would have to confess his weakness made it worse. Leon, with his upright honour and sense of duty, of all the Knights, the most like himself. If Arthur despised himself, Leon would too.   
He tried to be flippant in his greeting .   
“I am afraid you’ve missed the fun” he said, “and my uncle is indisposed”   
He swayed as he spoke, the effects of Agraviane’s actions still working through his system.  
“Sire!” called Leon, “Are you hurt? Was it...” he hesitated “was it the light? Did it do this?”   
Arthur smiled at the irony of it. “That was...” he began  
“Merlin” said Leon

And Arthur’s eyes widened in horror. “You think *Merlin* would hurt me?” he said with incredulity. 

 

Leon hesitated, thinking of the death of Maleagent and the argument over magic. The momentary silence dismayed the Prince. If Leon could doubt, what were the others thinking? He thought of the haunted, lonely look he saw in Merlin’s eyes when he thought he was not being observed. He had assumed Merlin was remembering pains past. Now he wondered what else shadowed Merlin’s thoughts.

 

Leon spoke. “No, I don’t” he said, “I don’t think that... I just find this use of magic... unsettling, I follow magic and find you here, hurt. What am I to think”   
The implications of what he said hit him.  
“He brought me to help you, didn’t he?” he said “and I am a fool. You are ill, I can see”

Arthur laughed bitterly.  
“Don’t fuss Leon, if it hasn’t killed me yet it probably is not going to.” Arthur kept his tone lighter than his mood. He was heartsick and gutsick and his eyes wanted to close. 

Looking at him Leon realised how broken his Prince was. He was used to leaning on Arthur, deferring to his judgement, relying on his strength. Even when wounded or in pain Arthur always went on as normal, hiding everything under a mask of stoicism. But now Leon saw the strain it took for the Prince to be the Prince and he took charge. Asking no questions, he sat Arthur by the remains of the fire, wrapped in his own red cloak and sent Bors to return to the main column to collect supplies and tell the men at arms to camp by the river. He remade the fire and, when Bors returned, used his own tent to supplement the shelter Arthur had made. He then led the Prince inside and ordered him to sleep. Arthur did not argue. 

Arthur slept and woke just before dawn with a clearer head and a sorer heart. Physically he was better but the world had not changed. He wanted to stay and hide. Instead he rose and called for Leon to report on the ambush at the village. Leon had expected as much. He knew the Prince would only allow himself a few hours of rest. 

They were discussing the attack when Bors called that there were riders approaching from the east. Leon drew his sword but relaxed when he recognised Lancelot and his men. Arthur stood up and greeted them gladly but his eyes were searching for a figure that was not there. 

“Where’s Merlin?” he asked, trying not to sound anxious.  
“The descent was steep, he was finding it difficult, so he’s resting for a while” said Lancelot.   
“You left him?” Arthur’s voice was quiet but dangerous.  
“Oh believe me, he can look after himself” said Gwaine with conviction but was interrupted by Merlin himself limping across the glade  
“M’here” he called, looking tousled and carrying a battered shield.

oOo  
Leon had seen his Prince in many moods. He had seen him in triumph and disaster, happiness and sorrow but he had never seen the expression of joy that spread over Arthur’s face as Merlin appeared. In a few steps he had reached the man and pulled him into a bear hug which, oblivious to the men around them, turned into a kiss, not passionate but possessive. Gwaine whistled appreciatively and Leon had a sudden and fixed desire to examine his shoes. 

“You found me” breathed Arthur as they separated.  
“I always know where you are” Merlin answered very softly.   
While still holding Merlin’s arms Arthur stepped back slightly. “I owe you my life” he said formally. “Thank you”   
Merlin pulled away.   
“Wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t gone into the woods with a strange man” he said in a sharp tone.  
Arthur blinked. “He wasn’t strange. He was my uncle” he said defensively. Merlin’s blue eyes blazed.  
“He tried to kill you! Do you not think that’s strange? Well, no of course not, half of Albion has tried to kill you – all the more reason not to go out without company!”   
“I HAD COMPANY”  
“WHO TRIED TO KILL YOU”   
“Merlin, stop poking my chest! I am a Prince; you can’t talk to me like that!”  
“You’re a prat and... let me see your hands” Merlin held Arthur’s hands in his and tried to undo the dressing. 

“They’re fine” said Arthur softly as Merlin curled his fingers around them.

“I am so sorry I hurt you” Merlin sounded lost, a stark contrast to his previous anger. Gwaine had a sudden insight as to where this conversation might lead and with discretion he was not known for he turned to Leon and said:

“That thing, the thing outside, you wanted all of us to see – shouldn’t we go now?” 

Leon looked surprised but nodded and gestured to the others to follow him out. Gwaine thoughtfully closed the tent flap as he left. 

Arthur and Merlin barely noticed they had left.   
Merlin insisted on looking at the burns, holding the Prince’s hands gently in his own.  
“I couldn’t think of another way. And look what I’ve done to you”  
“You saved my life”   
“You saved your life. I just woke you up” Merlin looked into Arthur’s face. “I was so scared” he said “I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up, that he, that he...” 

Arthur tried to say something comforting but his own ache came to the fore.   
“I trusted him.” He said in a broken tone. “I cared for him and he betrayed me” 

Merlin held him. “Yes” he said. There could be no platitudes, no ‘There There’ to make it better. Arthur’s affection was given so rarely, his trust even more rarely. Betrayal was unforgivable. Merlin understood this. He had suffered because of it. 

He held the prince close, breathing in his scent, feeling his tears against his cheek, and, groping for his mouth, he kissed him, deep and passionately, as if with a kiss he could exorcise the demons that haunted his lover. 

Arthur groaned into the kiss, pulling Merlin’s tunic over his head with a single stroke   
“Please?” he said breathlessly. “Please, Now”   
“Yes” said Merlin “Yes”. He pulled away and undressed slowly, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s   
“Yours” he said, “by oath and by heart.” He gave a half smile. “And body” 

Merlin lay face down on the makeshift bad.   
“No” said Arthur. “I need to see you” He turned Merlin over and knelt between his legs, pushing them up, kissing his thighs, especially the scar that ran the length of the left. Merlin lay back, relaxing into it, letting Arthur take the lead. His breath came in short bursts, hitching as pleasure flooded through him, his fingers curling and uncurling on the bed as each move the prince made rippled through him. His neck arched with the sensations flooding him as he moved with Arthur, rolling his hips and clenching his buttocks with each thrust, his whole body sensitised, his whole focus on the man before him, his whole world; this bed, every movement, each breath meaning life. He saw Arthur, glowing with the Pendragon colours, russet and gold and red, but interspersed with blue and silver, swirling over his skin, filling the shelter with light, filling, filling... 

Merlin came with silent gasps, his body clenching around his prince as Arthur too came, with shattering stars pushing against the senses until both lay sweating and sated, limbs tangled and bodies pressed together, heart beat to heart beat.

oOo  
Merlin wanted the moment to last, and sighed as Arthur started to move.  
“No” he said “Stay, no hurry”   
“I’m going to clean up.” Arthur said.  
“I’ll do it” Merlin concentrated and with a slow incantation the shaving bowl in the corner of the shelter filled up with water.  
“I’ve managed to figure out how not to have a stream of water flying through the air to get here but it is still from the river” he said.  
“How powerful are you” said Arthur in a guarded tone. 

Merlin took a second to reply. “I don’t know, I haven’t reached any limit yet, I’ve been able to do everything I tried. Though being in three places at the same time was really draining” he tried to lighten his tone but was unconvincing. His hand moved to the scar on his face, rubbing as he spoke.

“I killed people Arthur. I killed lots of people, and I say the world is better without them in it but it was so easy, so very easy,” his voice began to catch. “I did what you said, I let my magic free, let it be me and it was wonderful and terrible and so easy to destroy and I know why your father fears my kind because it is too easy and I needed to see you to be with you to be sure, to be real...” his words came out faster and faster as desperation grew in his voice.

Merlin held Arthur’s wrist tightly. “I am dangerous. You have no idea how dangerous” Arthur laughed to think of his Merlin being a danger to anyone other than himself. Merlin was brave, yes, but clumsy and kind and not a threat. 

Merlin, though, thought of how he felt when Thorkild fell, the power and exhilaration that had flooded through him. “You must give orders” he said, “You must say that if you should die, your men must kill me” I don’t know what I might become without a purpose, without a reason. Your father is not entirely wrong about magic”

“Gods! No! Merlin! How can you ask that? I would never...” Arthur stopped, his voice breaking as he remembered his rage when he had first seen Merlin’s magic. “My father is wrong. I could have...” 

“You didn’t” said Merlin softly, “not even in your anger. But what I ask is..”

“..Not going to happen” said Arthur firmly “You would never do evil, no matter how powerful” 

“We can’t be sure. The power is - it’s intoxicating, it fogs things – just being able to do thing, to command – it is so easy just to let it happen, never thinking of consequences for others because there won’t be any for you ” 

Arthur thought of his father, who used his power in exactly that way and shuddered inwardly ‘not Merlin’ he thought ‘never Merlin’   
Trying to change tack, and unknown to him, echoing Percival, he said “at least I can stop worrying about a pyre, you could fight off any arrest in Camelot now”

Merlin looked horrified. “I couldn’t do that” he said. “What if it was Robin sent to arrest me? I could never look at Jinny again if I hurt him. They are my friends, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t...”

Arthur laid his head on Merlin’s chest and laughed.  
“What’s so funny?” said Merlin indignantly. 

“You” said Arthur “My mighty Warlock fearful of becoming drunk with power but refusing to defend himself in case he hurts a friend.” He leant in, “You are not evil” he whispered as he claimed a kiss. “I am not afraid”

After a pause when speech was impossible, Merlin spoke.  
“Ar’ur? “If you stay where you are, there is no chance of us leaving this tent for a while”   
Arthur raised himself on his elbows and looked down at the crumpled warlock. With a lift of his eyebrows and a tiny half smile he asked a question.

“I’m fine with that” said Merlin “You’re recuperating. So re-coop” His arms reached out around Arthur’s chest, rubbing gently and stroking lower. Merlin smiled, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I don’t think going outside now would be such a good idea anyway”   
He twisted around, onto his front. “”Don’t make me beg” he said 

This coupling was not magical or surreal. This was rutting, primal and fierce and Merlin felt both the power and the pain and needed both to feel human, rooted, real. This was as much a part of him as his magic and as long as he kept both balanced, he would never be the monster he knew was possible. He lay under Arthur’s arm, shattered but whole. And home. 

Again, Arthur moved first. As he cleaned up, memory hit him and his mood darkened. Merlin, oblivious, stretched and sighed. 

“You cured my headache” said Merlin smilingly reaching out to touch Arthur’s back. Arthur flinched away.

“Well great” said Arthur. “Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot patented cure of headaches”   
The anger in his voice was tinged with despair that Merlin knew was always beneath the surface of the stoical prince He reached out towards his lover “What? What’s wrong? ”  
Arthur sounded tired. “I have to go out there and explain to men who look to me for leadership that a man I trusted, drugged me, tied me up and tried to kill me and I only live because a warlock many miles away was able to use magic.” He stood up and turned to Merlin, standing by the bed.

“Look at me.” he said. “My father took the skin from my back, my uncle tried to take my blood, you said yourself that half of Albion wants to kill me- I have no power, no purpose, no honour - what good am I?” 

Merlin really, really tried not to look at the flattened remains of the makeshift bed.

“Oh yes” said Arthur in disgust “That makes it all so much better” 

As he saw the despair in Arthur’s eyes Merlin suddenly remembered the mothers, pulling their children from the stocks, Meg, and her honey cakes, Gareth and his lonely vigil, and he laughed.

“Yes, it’s funny, isn’t it, Arthur Pendragon: Stud extraordinaire, if he lives long enough” Arthur said bitterly.

Merlin stepped forward, his eyes warmly smiling. “You don’t see it?” he said. “Those who strike against you, are striking against Camelot, but those who know you, who love you, are loyal to *Arthur*, to you. They would die for you as surely as the others would kill you and you earned their love because you do not try to.”

Merlin moved closer but knew instinctively not touch his prince. “What good are you? You are good. Not perfect mind, you have a really bad habit of throwing things when you get annoyed, but you are good. And I know it is not as important as winning a tournament or slaying a monster, but you have healed me”

He moved away, fumbling with his discarded clothes. ““When you found me” he said, “you can’t imagine how broken I was. I didn’t know how to be alive.” His voice hitched suddenly as he remembered “I didn’t” he continued, “I didn’t want to be alive and you put me back together, with every word, every touch, with every raised eyebrow, you put back the pieces stronger than before and I know that I am just a peasant...”

“You’re more than that” Arthur’s voice was gruff   
“And you are more than Prince Arthur of Camelot” said Merlin. Arthur turned suddenly.  
“Am I?” he said “I am what I am expected to be, Uther Pendragon’s good son. - Even my mother’s kin turned on me 

“Uther Pendragon’s good son would have had me burnt a year ago” Merlin said quietly. “You are far more than that”   
“I threw you away without thinking”  
“And searched for me when you started thinking. Arthur, you are really determined to beat yourself up here aren’t you?” Merlin said, then clapping his hand to his head he exclaimed “You haven’t had your breakfast. You’re always cranky when you are hungry – I’ll just check out Gwaine’s pack – he’s sure to have something” He bustled towards the tent flap but as he passed Arthur he grasped at the prince’s hand. 

“You are Arthur” he said softly, “You are *you*. Believe in yourself.” His smile bloomed, starting in his eyes and suffusing his whole face. “I always have” he said. 

Arthur wondered how, just in a few words and a touch Merlin could bring sunshine back to his world. He turned to see Merlin at the tent flap.   
“Merlin?” said Arthur  
“Yes?”  
“Trousers”  
oOo  
When Arthur left the shelter, he was laughing but when he saw the group huddled around the Stone his laughter died.   
Ironically for Gwaine, there really had been a ‘thing’ outside for them to deal with and the knights had spent the two hours of Arthur’s absence examining, wondering and discussing it.   
Arthur called out angrily as he approached the Stone:  
“I know what he did but he is still my kin, take him down” Agravaine’s body still hung limply on the stone.

“Well, there’s the thing” said Gwaine.  
The knights pulled back and showed the Prince what had absorbed their attention. 

The hilt of the rusty sword was pressed into Agravaine’s chest. The tip protruded from the other side of the Stone.   
“And it won’t come out” said Leon.   
“No idea how you got it in there” said Bors  
“We tried everything we could” said Lancelot.  
“And you don’t want to know what we discussed doing” said Gwaine.   
“Elyan thinks he can cut the sword with a wire, but we will have to get one strong enough and it may take a while” said Leon.

“No!” said Arthur, “Do not cut the sword” He touched the pommel, winding his fingers around the unornamented hilt. The metal in his hand sang through his blood, strumming through his veins and calling to a deep part of him he did not know was there. Gripping it strongly, he spoke, his voice distant and far away.

“She is Excalibur” he said as he pulled gently.   
The sword came as if called, Agravaine’s body slumping to the ground, ignored. Arthur held the sword to the light. No longer rusty, it gleamed, the swirls of steel showing how the metal had been folded and tempered to a soft sheen. As Arthur held it up, the morning sun, with a fine sense of timing emerged from behind a cloud gleaming on the steel of the sword and glowing around the golden head of the swordsman. 

 

Without speaking, one by one the knights in the glade bent the knee to their Prince, bowing their heads as they acknowledged their true allegiance. Merlin, coming out of the shelter, was almost dazzled by the sight but smiled to see the fulfilment of his assertions. Arthur held the sword high and looking straight at the tousled Merlin, he brought the hilt to his lips and swung the sword down in a salute to a Lord. Merlin bent his head in recognition, one equal to another. 

“No wonder of it: Sheer plod makes plough down sillion shine   
And blue bleak embers, ah my dear,   
Fall gall themselves and gash gold vermillion” (GM Hopkins)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have borrowed from Terry Pratchett, (imo one of the greatest modern writers) the sword in the stone idea. He made the point that putting the sword into the stone is way more impressive than getting it out. I don’t think Carrot Ironfounderson would mind sharing the glory. He and Arthur would get on well. They are both fiercely loyal to their home and to those they love, they both have a weakness for going by the book and they both like to make the bedsprings go gloing.


End file.
